


The Kingsman's Speech

by sylaha



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-09 21:37:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4365083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylaha/pseuds/sylaha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry wakes up with a new scar and a hefty stammer. Eggsy still thinks he's brilliant. Merlin doesn't know why he puts up with the two of them.</p><p>(OR: Kingsman meets The King's Speech.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I rewatched The King's Speech a few days ago and this fic idea wouldn't leave me alone. You do not need to have seen the movie to read this.
> 
> This is my first fic in a long time so all feedback/corrections are welcome and reviews are cherished. <3

The days following V-Day are some of the longest that Eggsy has ever experienced.   

The debriefing comes first, and it takes well over four hours to get through all of the bloody forms. Merlin calmly insists that protocol must be maintained, and Eggsy understands, knows that the rest of the organization must be brought up to speed, but it doesn’t stop him from daydreaming about his bed and how spectacular it would feel to just collapse.

Merlin stays perched in front of his laptop, tapping away as they walk through the events of the last 24 hours. He’s relieved that Roxy is there too, sitting in the chair next to his and looking as exhausted as he feels, squeezing his hand gently under the table when his voice gets tight and uneven as he details his last conversation with Harry and his encounter with Chester King. 

He doesn’t miss the way Merlin’s typing falters briefly, eyes softening but not looking away from his screen. There’s a beat of silence and Eggsy wonders if he’s going to say something, make him go into more detail, but the moment passes and Merlin is back to the report, clicking away. Eggsy lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and carries on with it to the parts all three of them remember. He resolutely ignores the ache in his chest at the thought of the fourth person that should be here at the table with them.

The next day, once he’s sure his mum and little Daisy are safe and settled into their fully-furnished, Kingsman-issued house, he’s back at HQ preparing to fly to a factory in Beijing where Valentine’s SIM cards were being produced. Merlin has been working borderline scary hours with how thinly spread they are, dealing with the aftermath of half of the world’s leaders getting their heads blown up in the span of a few minutes. They’re slowly figuring out which agents have been compromised through a combination of surveillance and interrogation, and it’s been shit for morale, but at least three other agents are confirmed to be alive and loyal.

Truthfully, Eggsy’s glad to not have a break in the action. He’d had the option of taking a few days to rest, but he couldn’t stand the thought of sitting around with the world gone to shit, even if his ribs are still fairly bruised. It feels good to put on his clean suit and lace up a new pair of Oxfords, and he looks approvingly at his reflection as he tightens a brand new tie around his throat. The ritual still feels foreign, like he’s playing dress-up and doesn’t quite belong, but it’s grounding as well — a reminder of the sense of responsibility that has come along with this new life. 

There’s enough going on in Beijing to keep him out on the field for a whole week. By the end of it, he’s apprehended a number of factory managers, shut down the facility, and freed a number of Chinese officials that had been kept hostage, all with Merlin in his ear guiding him through the maze of hallways and cursing under his breath whenever he has a run-in with a group of armed guards or, in one case, a particularly fanatic research assistant with a knife and a serious revenge streak. He’d finally gotten to give his signet ring a go, and shit, it was so fucking _cool._

Merlin is still managing to grow on him with each passing day. There’s been some sort of unspoken agreement between them to keep calling him Eggsy instead of what’s stamped on all of the official Kingsman documents he’s received: _Galahad_. Eggsy is grateful for that, really, because every time he reads that codename he can feel the grief that he is trying so desperately to compartmentalize surge through him, making his whole chest ache, and he really doesn’t want to find out how that would affect, say, a gunfight.

When he’s finally on the plane back to London, he gives Roxy a call to check in, make sure she’s okay, laughing as she complains about one of the American hostages that wouldn’t stop asking her to go for a drink. She was convinced she’d heard Merlin cackle in her earpiece when she shot him with a sleeping dart. When she asks Eggsy how he’s doing, her voice has a hint of concern to it, and so he goes off about the mission and the jet lag and the weird Chinese food he’d had, trying his best to sound lighthearted. Roxy is a smart one though, and knows him well enough by now to see when he’s just running his mouth, and she cuts him off with a soft “Come on, Eggsy.” 

Eggsy just sighs, leaning back in his seat. “M’fine, Rox, okay? Just fucking exhausted is all.”

“I know.” She pauses, and then whispers, "Eggsy, you must know how proud of you Harry would be. How proud of you he was."

Eggsy's done a great job of keeping himself from thinking about Harry this week, thoroughly distracted with work, so it takes him a moment to recover, his throat suddenly feeling tight. “I don’t know, Rox. I don’t think so.” He knows she means well, but he was there in Harry’s bathroom, he saw the fury and obvious disappointment in his eyes, and the mental image is enough to make him feel a little sick. “Rox, I’m gonna go, I’m sorry, I’ll see you in a few hours, kay?"

He hastily disconnects before she can respond, shoving his glasses into the pocket of his jacket, digging his palms into his eyes and trying to keep his breathing even, but it’s no use — there are tears already sliding down his face and stinging when they reach the scrapes and cuts he’s accumulated over the last week. He can’t shake the image of Harry, flat on the pavement in Kentucky, and he lets himself cry for the first time since that fucking day, head falling into his hands. His chest tightens with each sob, mumbling a weak string of "Harry, Harry, fuck, Harry, _fuck”,_ and it’s such a release to be able to finally fall apart that it makes him lightheaded and dizzy, overwhelmed by the fact that he’s gone, he’s really _gone._  

It’s a few minutes before Eggsy forces himself to take some deep breaths, sitting up straight and wiping his face with his pocket square, hiccuping a dark laugh as he thinks how absolutely pissed Harry would be if he saw the stained silk, how his brow would crease and his mouth would turn down slightly in disapproval.

He spends the remainder of the flight convincing himself that he’ll get through this, that the tidal wave of grief isn’t going to last, that it will pass with time. He thinks of Michelle and of Daisy and the way his mum looked at him when she knocked Dean on his fucking arse, and he knows that despite it all, he has to keep going. He has to do this for them. They deserve a safe, happy life, and he’s determined to give that to them after all of this time.

Eggsy takes one last deep breath and pulls out his tablet, proceeding to distract himself with some additional Kingsman orientation documents that Merlin had sent his way earlier in the day, covering his spending account and the associated rules. He makes himself focus on how absolutely unreal it will be to have this kind of regular income, and if his heart continues to sink every time he reads the word _Galahad_ , he tries not to let it show. 

*****

 

Two grueling weeks later, things have calmed down ever so slightly at HQ now that another senior agent, Gawain, has been confirmed as uncompromised. Missions are still coming nonstop with barely any time to pop home between each, and Eggsy is starting to feel like he’s forgotten what being well rested feels like. The workload is beginning to wear on him, but with four agents still completely MIA, there’s nothing to be done about it.

Merlin has it worse. Honestly, if the man had any hair to lose, he’s sure it’d be gone by now, what with everyone constantly on high alert, trust nonexistent all throughout HQ, conversations staying short and sweet with everyone other than Roxy.

Personally, he always knew Chester King was a complete wanker, but he keeps that bit to himself.

Eggsy has just finished breakfast, spending most of it quietly interrogating Roxy about the woman she’s apparently been seeing on and off, insisting that he's quite hurt that he’s just finding out about all of this while she flicks pieces of cereal at his face. He’s headed towards the gym, prepared to have a go on the handlebars, when he is suddenly intercepted by Merlin who looks unusually tense as he clasps a hand around Eggsy’s shoulder and steers him in the direction of the ops room.

“Oy, morning to you too, bruv,” he says with a smile, and when he gets no response, Eggsy feels a knot of unease form in his stomach. He follows silently down the stairs and over to Merlin’s desk, settling into an armchair across from him when it’s offered and bracing himself for whatever was coming.

“Eggsy."

Merlin doesn’t continue for a few long seconds, just stares at him with a frown, and then comes straight out with it.

"Harry is alive."

Eggsy blinks, and suddenly he’s feeling like all of the oxygen has left his lungs. His mouth falls open, a thousand things running through his mind, but all that comes out is a faint noise of confusion, his mind still trying to process the implications of those three words. 

Merlin leans forward, a hand resting gently on Eggsy’s knee. “You heard me, Eggsy. He’s just gotten out of critical care this morning. Quite a bit of swelling in the brain, three reconstructive surgeries to his skull and his eye. Flatlined for a whole minute at one point, actually. His vitals have finally stabilized but he’s on a cocktail of painkillers so I don’t expect him to be in much of a…oy, are you alright, lad?"

Eggsy realizes he’s shaking when Merlin tightens his grip on his knee, and he looks up to meet Merlin’s gaze, trying to find something to say despite feeling like his heart might burst out of his chest. A part of him feels betrayed to only just be hearing about this, wants to be angry for the past three weeks he’s been thinking Harry was off buried somewhere, but he’s too overwhelmed with hope and relief that he can’t do anything other than grip Merlin’s hand tightly with his own.

“Fuck, Merlin, I just… is he gonna be okay? How long is he gonna be out for?"

“He will be okay, yes. It’s a bloody miracle that he’s managed to survive at all, let alone that the bullet didn’t hit his brain. There was so much swelling that it’s hard to be completely sure of the side effects,” he pauses, looking mildly pained. “Things look hopeful, though. I wanted you to know because he’s being transferred to the Kingsman med bay—"

At this, Eggsy sits up straight, eyes wide. “You kiddin’ me? He’s here?"

“He _will_ be here,” Merlin corrects, “in a few hours. I will permit you to visit him once he arrives on one condition: this must remain _absolutely_ confidential."

Eggsy feels like he’s going to laugh and cry all at once at the thought, to be able to see Harry again, _alive_ , at HQ where he belongs.

“Other agents included, you saying?” Eggsy looks at him with confusion. "So wait, why you telling _me_ then?"

“Yes, Eggsy. You see, unfortunately, until Harry is on his feet again his condition must remain a secret even within Kingsman. If some of our agents truly did side with Arthur, we cannot trust that they will not try to… take advantage of the situation.” 

Eggsy swallows. “Yeah, fuck. Okay."

"I’m telling you about this because truthfully, I’m going to need your help until he’s more fully recovered. With nearly every agent out in the field I can’t _completely_ step away from all of this,” he explains with a gesture at the array of monitors on his desk, currently occupied with the glasses feed of what must be Bors as well as a number of complicated looking windows of code.

“Plus, I think you’ve rather earned yourself somewhat of a break from fieldwork after these last few weeks, don’t you agree?"

Eggsy just nods, and he can’t help but smile weakly at that, feeling a huge swell of pride to think that Merlin would trust him with this, that he’s asking for his help.

“Yeah, ‘course, Merlin. Whatever you need,” Eggsy says, and he hopes that he’s succeeding at looking at least remotely calm about all of this. He’s finding that he’d likely do anything at all if it meant getting to stay here and help Harry. 

Merlin nods, looking pleased. “There will be some routine things like monitoring his vitals, giving him his food and medication. Mostly, though, I’ll need you to handle some of my extra work for me. Research assignments, paperwork, that sort of thing." 

Eggsy groans even though he’s now close to grinning as the reality of the situation starts to set in, not able to bring himself to dread it completely. “Well fuck me, bruv. That what you do all day? I’m gonna die of boredom before Harry even wakes up.”

He's not sure, but he thinks he sees a downright evil glint in Merlin’s eyes.  

***

 

The first thing Harry hears is a steady, high pitched beeping. He thinks fleetingly that perhaps it’s a bomb, and wouldn’t it be lovely if his arms weren’t filled with lead so that he could disarm it? He tries to warn someone, anyone, but his mouth seems to be glued shut as well, and so he lets himself be pulled back into the depths of sleep, hazy and warm. 

The second thing Harry hears is tapping. Someone, or something, is _tap-tap-tapping_ quite quickly. It sounds rather far away, but it doesn’t seem to be stopping. Harry realizes that he isn’t quite sure where he is, and It takes him a few moments to remember how to open his eyes, but then he does, and the sudden flood of light causes him to screw them shut again with a pained noise. 

The tapping stops.

It takes a few moments to adjust, and when he opens his eyes again, Merlin is there, his laptop sitting on a chair beside him, and he’s clearly in a hospital room at Kingsman HQ, which means — _oh._  

Merlin’s hand is on his shoulder now, squeezing lightly. “Welcome back, Harry.”  

Harry sits up, memories slowly resurfacing of blood, Valentine, Kentucky. His head feels like — well, like he’s been shot in the face. He sighs and reaches up to rub at his temples to soothe the dull ache, but freezes when his fingers meet a faint scar on the left side.

“Aye, you gave us a right scare, but it’s all healed over,” Merlin explains. Harry continues to trace the lines up past his ear, marveling at how thin the line feels under his fingertips.

“Do you remember what happened, Harry?"

_Yes, Merlin, of course I do — I was shot in the head by Valentine, and yet somehow I seem to still be here._

Harry realizes after a few seconds that his jaw is moving but the words aren’t coming out, and he frowns, trying again. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, and it’s with a considerable amount of effort that he manages to force out a “yes”, though it’s more like a “yhh”, and he looks up at Merlin, who is looking back at him knowingly.

_What on earth is going on, Merlin? What the bloody hell has happened to me?_

All that comes out is a _whh_  sound, and his concern is replaced with panic, fists clenching the sheets, jaw working uselessly. He’s trying desperately to get the words out, but they don’t come, and in his frustration he fails to notice Merlin reaching out to grip his face, peering into his eyes.

“Harry. _Look at me_. Calm down."

_Haven’t got much choice, do I?_  he thinks, but doesn’t try to speak, almost afraid to try a third time, so he just continues to stare up at Merlin, brow creased, trying to will the man to answer his questions.

It seems to work, or Merlin is just a perceptive individual, because Merlin immediately launches into an explanation of the gunshot wound, his surgeries, the fact that it’s somehow been _four weeks_  since he was last conscious. By the end of it, Harry’s amazement at his own survival has tripled.  

“So, while the bullet did not pierce your brain, and thank _god_ for that, the swelling has come with some side effects. Headaches, though pain medication will abate that somewhat. More noticeably from your last CT scan, you have suffered some minor damage to the area of your left hemisphere that controls your speech, but with time and effort, you _will_ be able to recover from it.” 

_Brain damage_. The words sink in slowly, Harry just continuing to stare at Merlin, hoping for more details. Instead he walks to the other side of the room, rummaging in a drawer.

Harry knows that the news — _you will recover —_ should make him feel calmer, but there’s still a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach, and as the minutes go by, he’s finding it increasingly infuriating to not be able to respond, to ask the questions swirling around in his mind. He briefly considers simply yelling at the top of his lungs, but he refrains from such an ungentlemanly display, settling on rubbing at his temples again.

Merlin is back at his side, this time with a black Moleskine notebook and one of Harry’s favourite pens. Harry smiles appreciatively at the gesture, and perhaps Merlin is a mind reader after all.

Harry cracks the spine and turns to the first page, pen in hand, but hesitates, trying to pick just one thing to write down. He could probably fill the page with questions about the past four weeks.

Merlin places a hand on the notebook. “Now, I want you to have this to make life easier for the time being, but I need you to promise me that you will still  _try_ _to speak_. Improvement can only come with practice. I’ve got a number of exercises for you to work on, but just regular attempts at speech are just important, despite how frustrating they will feel at first."

Harry frowns and scribbles a quick **I promise** , holding it up for Merlin to see.

This seems to appease him, so Harry begins to write again, torn between his desire for excellent penmanship and how desperately he wants information. 

**Exercises?**

******Tell me what happened to Valentine.**

“Oy, you’re going to keep me here all night, aren’t you?” 

Harry just smiles innocently. 

Merlin pulls his chair closer to the bed so that he can sit level with Harry. “I’ll tell you all about it if you if you can try to say something for me, okay? Much of what will help you improve is practicing words, repetition exercises, so it’s best to start with simple words like yes and no."

Harry sighs and nods, sitting up a little straighter in bed as he focuses on the words. The first few tries are just clicking of the tongue, but after a minute he’s able to make something of a  _yhh_ sound, and he has to force himself to take a breath, patience already fading.

“That’s good, Harry. Try it again."

Harry rubs his jaw, as though massaging it could somehow loosen the syllables trapped within his throat, and tries a few more times. After another couple of maddening attempts, each one getting a touch louder, he finally shouts out a firm, reasonably clear “ _Yes!”_  and gasps, not quite believing it. “Yes, yes, yes, _yes,”_  he repeats, feeling the familiar way his mouth forms the word.

“See? Already making strides.” Merlin is grinning and it’s such a relief to have made tangible progress so quickly, even if it is such a simple utterance. “Fantastic.” He squeezes Harry’s knee as he says this, and it’s hard not to feel a bit better with such a reassuring presence by his side.

“That’s one kind of exercise we’ll work on with you. Others involve working your muscles, which we will have to save until you’re a wee bit stronger, but I’m sensing that will be sooner rather than later."

Harry goes to reach for his pen, but Merlin bats his hand away, giving him a pointed look. Harry glares right back, huffing out a breath as he closes his eyes and tries to focus on what he wants to say.

He’s going for _We?_ , and after a few stretches of his jaw, says something more like _Whay?,_ which is close enough.

“Yes. Myself and Eggsy — we’re the only two who know that you’re alive right now.”

Hearing that name makes Harry's mouth go dry, their confrontation feeling like it was just yesterday, and he has to swallow hard before he can try to speak again. 

It takes a few stammers, his throat muscles tightening like they have a mind of their own, but he’s able to manage a wobbly “Haa is eh?,” and it pains him to realize that it’s taking a great deal of his energy to get his muscles to cooperate, even to this level. Merlin is smiling at him again and nodding excitedly at the effort, so Harry only manages to not frown in return, pulling the notebook towards him meaningfully.

“Eggsy is fine. Sleeping currently — he and I have been taking shifts. He’ll be very pleased to know that you’re up and about.” 

Harry has to bite the inside of his cheek at that — the thought of Eggsy sitting in that chair for hours on end. Likely it’s just another assignment from Merlin, but Harry can’t help but imagine that he would care enough to do so of his own volition, despite where they left off. 

Merlin’s gaze softens for a moment, and then he’s reaching for his laptop, pulling up feeds and reports from V-Day for Harry to review, and he takes them eagerly. 

An hour later, Harry has gone through most of it, heart hammering the entire time even with bits of commentary from Merlin, but his eyes are beginning to droop and he can’t bring himself to argue when Merlin insists that he get some rest.

Harry sinks into his pillow, giving in to the underlying exhaustion he’s felt all evening. He drifts off to the thought of Eggsy, _his_ Eggsy, so lethal and clever and _brave_ , and the pride blossoming in his chest is mixed with relief that now, he’ll have the chance to express it.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Eggsy has spent the last few hours digging up blueprints and creating fake identification cards for Gawain’s next mission, and he’s so engrossed in the work that it actually makes him jump when he hears a creak from the hospital bed. 

“ _Harry_.” He’s on his feet in an instant, putting his laptop aside, taking a step closer to the bed. “I’m…”, he starts, but his heart is racing and everything that comes to mind is something out of a soap opera, so instead he grabs the glass that’s sitting on the table, holding it forward, tamping down the excitement that’s bubbling up from his stomach as he tries to keep it together.

"Er. Got you some water here if you want it?"

Harry just stares at him, and Eggsy shifts under his gaze as the moment stretches on, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding when Harry finally reaches out to take the glass and proceeds to drink it down.

“Good to see you chuggin' water like that. Merlin said you was gettin’ your strength back.” Eggsy takes the glass and crosses the room to fill it up again at the tap. “How you feelin’ today?"

When he turns back to the bed, Harry’s eyes are still fixed on him, soft and a bit sad, and he’s really not sure what to do with that, so he just swallows and sets the glass back down on Harry’s bedside table.

It’s then that he sees a notebook and pen sitting there, and of _course_ Merlin would fail to mention that particular detail. He had been keeping Eggsy updated on Harry’s slow progress with his speech, but given the fact that Harry still hadn't tried to say anything to him, he picks them up.

“Um, d’you want to, you know…”, he says awkwardly, handing them to Harry who accepts them with a nod, cracking it open to a blank page. Eggsy tries not to let his eyes linger too much on Harry’s scar while he's writing, still getting used to the web of pink lines, and he fidgets with the hem of his jumper as the silence starts to feel thick. 

After a long minute, Harry lifts the notebook, and of course his handwriting is all posh and neat.

**Feeling better. Tired. Glad to be off of the painkillers. Thank you for the water. Saw the V-Day footage. You were excellent.**

Eggsy ducks his head at that. He wasn’t expecting Harry to see any of it so soon. “Yeah, well. Someone had to kill that bastard, eh?"

Harry’s lips quirk into something of a smile, and he goes back to the notebook.

**Damn right.**

Eggsy laughs weakly, but doesn’t say anything else, waiting for Harry to finish writing again. 

**Welcome to Kingsman, by the way. How are you finding being an agent? I hear Merlin has you doing his grunt work.**

“Fuckin' right he does. The paperwork is a bloody nightmare. I don’t know how ‘e survives it.”

Eggsy runs a hand through his hair. "It’s, er… it’s been good, though. Exhausting, but I ain’t about to complain about bein’ on the field so quick."

Harry’s eyes dart to his bruised cheek, and he waves it off. “Just a couple o' fistfights in Germany. Nothin’ major.” 

Harry frowns, back to the notebook. It’s strange, communicating like this, and Eggsy isn’t sure what to do with himself while he waits for Harry’s slow cursive lettering, chewing on his lip nervously.

**Haven’t seen that report yet. Where in Germany?**

“Munich. Beautiful place, but turns out Valentine had another base there that weren't quite empty, if you catch me. Apparently not all of Valentine’s supporters were considered worthy of a chip.” He taps his neck in emphasis. “Speakin' of which, Merlin tell you ‘bout Arthur yet?”

Harry grimaces and nods, going back to the notebook for an especially long stretch while Eggsy fiddles with his tie.

**Unbelievable. Knew he was old fashioned, but would never have considered him capable of that kind of betrayal.**

Eggsy shrugs. “Weren’t that surprising to me, if I’m being straight."

The looks Harry gives him is bordering on incredulous. 

“What? I mean the man's candidate was _Charlie_ , who turned out to be even more of a prick than I could have imagined in the end. That is fuckin' saying something, bruv."

It’s bizarre to have that met with silence. Talking like this feels so impersonal, and it makes him a bit uneasy, like Harry isn’t actually there and he’s been speaking with some kind of computer program instead. It’s worse because Merlin had told him about how they’d been managing basic conversations since Harry woke up, and he can’t lie — it stings to think that Harry doesn’t seem to find him worth the same effort, that he’s able to act so formal, but he can’t let himself dwell on it, focusing instead on the steady beep of the heart monitor.

It’s not the wisest thing, making him think of how close things had come to being so very different, the sudden tightness in his chest almost causing him to miss the fact that Harry is holding up the notebook again.

**I’ll concede to that. What are you working on?**

“Oh, _shit_.” The documents he was retouching were the furthest thing from his mind, his laptop lying forgotten on the floor. "Gettin' some things prepped for Gawain. He’s flyin' out to Poland tonight. I better finish that up or Merlin will be on my arse. You, uh — you need anything first?” 

Harry shakes his head, leaning back into his pillow, and Eggsy puts the notebook back on the table for him. 

“‘kay. Shout if you do, yeah?” 

Harry just raises an eyebrow at the wording, but Eggsy decides not to correct himself, knowing full well that Harry can talk if he needs to, and he lets himself get sucked into running a background check on Gawain’s mark, glancing up every so often to make sure Harry is still there and breathing.

***

Harry’s hospital life quickly falls into a routine.

There’s a desk that’s been brought into his room, looking a bit out of place in the small sitting area. Depending on the time of day, either Merlin or Eggsy can be found behind it, papers spread out across the surface with at least one laptop set up to the side. He rather detests feeling minded like that, but he’s also grateful for the company, so he doesn’t complain. 

In the morning comes Merlin, bringing him a plate of eggs and toast and a paper cup of pills, taking his blood pressure and scribbling things onto his clipboard. He’s also been kind enough to give Harry a shave and a decent haircut without even needing to be asked, understanding after years of working together how much Harry loathes being scruffy. 

They always have a cup of tea, and Harry takes his time with it because he knows that his speaking exercises are to follow, a full hour of humiliating practice that leaves him exhausted and with thoroughly damaged pride. 

He knows he's made quite a bit of progress since he woke up a little under a week ago, but it’s difficult to feel any sense of accomplishment when he still stumbles on the simplest of phrases. It’s as though a gulf exists between his thoughts and what actually comes out of his mouth, and the effort of trying to cross it is… well, frustrating can’t even begin to cover it.

Some of it comes more easily — greetings, affirmations, simple questions. Merlin has explained to him that things said automatically in the past will flow more naturally, though it took him a few days to get his lips to cooperate with the p in _please_ . Currently he's working on a list of European countries, saying things like  _Italy_ and _Croatia_ over and over again, needing to pause to shake out his jaw every few minutes, and Merlin is kind enough not to laugh at the noise that creates. It all feels utterly ridiculous, but he knows that it's necessary, and before he knows it there is a pile of the blasted worksheets on his table, all having been thoroughly marked up with his pen as he goes through them over and over and over.

To his immense relief, unlike his speech, walking is no trouble at all, and he’s back on his feet quickly, sometimes taking strolls around the corridors in the early hours of the morning to stretch his legs while the mansion is still empty. The constant bedrest is starting to go to his head, and he’s eager to return home, to go _outside_ , but Merlin won’t have it, usually muttering something about head trauma and brain swelling.

Merlin leaves after lunch, and he’s always so drained from their session that he’s asleep again shortly after the door shuts, energy levels still not remotely back to their usual. The headaches are becoming less painful, but they are still a regular occurrence, and he’s not sure where he’d be without the bottle of ibuprofen on his bedside table.

And then there’s Eggsy.

Waking up to him has become a comfort, never failing to drop in before dinner with his work in hand, and Harry wonders what his sleep schedule must be like these days since he sometimes sticking around until about two in the morning before heading back to his house. They continue to exchange words using the notebook, and he can feel it causing rift between them, but he knows it’s better than the alternative, shame burning through his veins every time he considers trying to have a real conversation with the boy. 

Eggsy takes good care of him despite the silence, bringing him his copy of The Times and keeping his water jug full and making sure to nick him an extra slice of chocolate cake the night someone in the tech department has a surprise birthday party. They always eat quietly, Eggsy glancing at him hopefully from time to time, but soon enough he's back at the desk, typing away at another mission dossier, and Harry longs to ask him about it, about his day, but every time he considers it the words get stuck in his throat and he feels like a fool.

Harry knows that Eggsy would rather be out on the field, undercover and in the thick of it, knows he should feel guilty that he’s stuck here instead, but it must be the constant bedrest that has him beginning to look forward to his evening visits, unable to stop himself from drinking in the sight of Eggsy, outfitted in bespoke suits and tailored jumpers, all cheerful energy and warm smiles.

Yes, he thinks, definitely the bedrest.

***

Eggsy’s life is falling into a bit of a routine too now that he’s helping look after Harry, and he won't admit it to anyone, especially not Roxy, but he's grateful for the slower pace, the chance to relax somewhat. He's been able to spend more time with his mum which is helping her slowly come to terms with his decision to follow in Lee's footsteps. Something about going from Dean's piece of shit flat to a beautiful house in central London is definitely playing a part there.

He’s even starting to enjoy some of the work that Merlin is tossing his way, which is another thing he’ll never admit. It’s nice getting to dabble in the work of a handler save for the _insane_ amount of paperwork that seems to be attached to the role. His hand had actually _gotten sore_ the other day — that amount of writing had to be criminal. 

Today, Harry is awake when Eggsy enters the hospital room. It's been a little over a week since the man first woke up in his presence, but he still feels a twinge of relief every time he sees him sitting there with a book in his hand, the reality of the situation still sinking in. 

Eggsy is carrying a stack of folders in his arms and he sets them down on the desk with a thump, irritation in his voice when he sighs. “I never thought a fucking assassination attempt could require so much bloody _paperwork._ "

Harry has the notebook ready, open to a fresh page.

 **Hello to you too.**

“Look at this shit.” Eggsy is holding up a particularly thick packet of witness reports. “Half the population over in the states is packin’ and yet everyone’s goin' mad because some bloke decided to bring a gun to a political address."

Harry writes out his response while Eggsy sets up shop, papers beginning to cover every inch of the desk’s surface.

 **I think you underestimate the delicate state of the American government after more than half of it turned out to be on board with letting the country kill itself off.**

“Yeah, I s’pose the Royal Family were an exception as far as Valentine supporters go. Still, took Kay five seconds to handle it, and now it's gonna take me five hours to get it all cleaned up."

After the stretch of waiting that Eggsy still hasn't gotten used to, Harry holds up the notebook.

 **Something tells me you're quickly gaining a new appreciation for the work Merlin does behind the scenes.**

"Yeah, it's gotta be on purpose. I'm starting to think that man's a sadist."

Harry cocks an eyebrow and starts to write again, but stills when Eggsy steps closer to rest a hand on his shoulder, unable to stop himself. Eggsy has been thinking about how to do this for the last few days, the silence becoming unbearable. He’s starting to feel desperate to hear something in response, missing their easy back and forth, and while he knows it won't be nearly as smooth as it used to be, anything is _so_ much better than where they're at right now.

“Look, Harry,” he begins, trying to sound confident. "Merlin’s told me 'bout the issues you’re havin' with your speakin’,” — he feels Harry tense beneath his palm — “an' I know that you need to practice. Maybe we could give it a go without the pen and paper today, you think?"

Harry doesn’t look up, just sighs and writes out a hasty  **I can’t** .

He feels a wave of defeat at the words, but forces himself to keep going, trying not to let too much eagerness creep into his tone. “We can keep it basic, yeah? Simple stuff. Just would be nice to…talk out loud, ya know? Have a proper catch up?” 

Harry still isn’t meeting his eyes, and it feels like a slap across the face when he reads what Harry’s written.

**Absolutely not. The notebook will suffice.**   


Eggsy retracts his hand like it's been burned and shoves it in his pocket. 

“Fine. Okay. Gonna grab your dinner."

He turns and hurries out of the room, so he misses the way Harry’s face falls, mouth opening and closing noiselessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more king's speech references and happier moments to come, i promise. <3


	3. Chapter 3

"I’m a thistle-sifter. I have a sieve of sifted thistles and a sieve of unsifted thistles, because I am a thistle sifter."

Merlin doesn’t blink, sitting in his usual chair, legs crossed, and Harry can only glare. “Merlin, you are—bl—bloody ridiculous."

“Tongue twisters are good practice, Harry.” There’s definitely a hint of mischief in his eyes now. “You should keep at it."

“I’d much rather,” Harry says with a pause to swallow and stretch his throat, “keep at things I would — actually — say."

“You never know,” Merlin says seriously. “What if the outcome of a mission came down to a recitation of tongue twisters?”

Merlin tries to slide him the worksheet, and after being poked with the edge of the paper a few times, Harry grumbles and takes it, tucking it in with the others.

At this, Merlin looks satisfied, standing up.

“I mean it; they _are_ good practice. For another time, though. I think we’ve gone long enough for today.”  

_Damn right_ , Harry thinks, bringing his hand up to his jaw to massage the muscles that have begun to develop their telltale ache. It never fails to make him feel thoroughly frustrated with himself, to think that merely speaking for an extended period of time can have this effect.

He wonders if Merlin is able to tell when he has reached this point, but given that Merlin’s perceptiveness usually borders on alarming, he thinks he knows the answer.

“I’ve reviewed your most recent MRI,” Merlin says conversationally as he packs up his briefcase. “Things are looking quite good and your strength really has improved tremendously. Unfortunately, until you are fully recovered and able to rejoin Kingsman, your condition must continue to remain confidential, but based on the positive results, I want to discuss your options.”

Harry sits up straighter at this. Every one of his attempts to discuss getting out of this blasted hospital room has been fruitless, always met with some variation of “be patient” or “not just yet", so this is perhaps the most promising thing he's heard since waking up.

"You may, of course, remain here at HQ in the same capacity. That's certainly the safest and most convenient option.” Merlin is taking extra care to emphasize these points, but they are falling on deaf ears, Harry never having been a man concerned with of a bit of risk.

"The other _less safe_ option would be to return you to your home. You would still need to get plenty of rest, and I'd need to do a fair amount of work to make sure that no one but me is going to be able to access the security system, and we would need to utilize the hidden entrance, never the front door —"

"Home — absolutely," Harry interrupts firmly, not caring what the conditions are, a wave of relief hitting him at the thought of being able to sleep in his own bed, to sit at his own desk, free from the pervasive smell of antiseptic and bleach.

"I thought you might choose the complicated option," Merlin says, but it's with a knowing smile, and Harry is so overcome with gratitude for his friend that it takes him a few tries to manage a "thank you".

“I’ll make arrangements for a car to transport you back to London late this evening. Eggsy has agreed to accompany you as I will be assisting Lancelot with a mission in Cairo, but I’ll see you tomorrow morning. We will continue our usual routine as much as possible at your home."

“We meaning — you and — Eh—Ehs—,“ Harry tries, and he has to stop to take a deep breath, fists clenching as his mouth tries and fails to form the syllables. He still hasn’t been able to say Eggsy’s name aloud, the gs sound an especially tricky one, and irritation flares in his chest, yet another item to be added to the list of things involving the boy that make him feel terribly guilty.

“Yes, Eggsy will continue to visit as well to make sure you get supper and don’t go completely batty all by yourself in that house. We’ll get him back out in the field soon enough, but for now I still require his assistance with some of my responsibilities.” Merlin pauses, looking vaguely annoyed. “Speaking of which, you really ought to stop relying on pen and paper with the lad. More practice would do you some good, really. You have nothing to be ashamed of.’"

Harry had gotten so close a few times, he truly had, ready to put aside the notebook and speak, but each time the words had seemed to evaporate, the thought of the boy hearing him stammer and trip over his sentences causing his mouth to wrench itself shut.

“In—due time,” he says after a few moments, eyes lingering on the black notebook even after Merlin exits the room.

***

Harry does his best to get some sleep, his headache from earlier in the day still lingering, but it’s no use, the anticipation to finally leave HQ making him restless. He gives up after a while and opts instead to read through today's paper, and it's a nice exercise, the news feeling more real in the context of finally going back to London. Even weeks later, the political situation post V-day is quite a catastrophe, and he can see how the aftermath of a few weeks of non-stop missions has left the administrative side of Kingsman quite backed up.

It’s hard not to fantasize about taking on some of the missions himself one of these days, but the road ahead feels endless, and he doesn’t let himself think too much about it.

Harry is just finishing up the crossword when Eggsy knocks and enters with two roast beef sandwiches in hand, rye with no tomato just the way Harry likes. He's shocked to realize that it's already half past nine, and he gives Eggsy an appreciative nod, his appetite having snuck up on him.

Eggsy is dressed down today in a fitted t-shirt and jeans. It’s a nice look, Harry finds himself thinking; quite a contrast to the more formal attire he’s been sporting lately, though that was certainly nice too. They eat in silence, Eggsy tapping away at something on his phone, and it’s not a surprise, Eggsy having been unusually distant ever since their conversation a few days ago. Harry blames this fact for how often he finds himself looking up at Eggsy, hoping for any of his usual banter, but it doesn’t come.

Harry moves to place his plate on the bedside table, but Eggsy stops him, taking it and placing it on the desk with his own. The desire to say thank you is almost unbearable, and he loathes his own lack of etiquette, but before he can dwell on it, Eggsy is saying something into his earpiece.

“Merlin says we’re good to head to the car now. He’s got it stationed at the side entrance closest to your room, so shouldn’t be too much walkin'."

Harry nods, gripping the edge of the bed and slowly pushing himself to his feet. Eggsy is at his side, a steadying hand on his arm, and they make their way down several hallways, Eggsy’s body a warm line of contact in lieu of his usual cane. It’s oddly comforting, leaning into Eggsy's weight as they walk, Eggsy relaying information from Merlin and smelling faintly of cinnamon and sandalwood. He thinks he could manage the walk on his own, but he lets himself be supported, their proximity a welcome change of pace from these last few days.

When he informs Harry that Merlin is keeping this part of the Kingsman estate locked down, his eyes on all surveillance cameras, Harry starts to think that this level of security is getting to be a bit much, but he trusts Merlin’s judgement.

Eggsy helps him into the back of the self-driving car, walking around to the other side to take the seat next to him, and as the car pulls away it feels like a weight has been lifted, the estate fade into the horizon behind them.

The sensation is short-lived, though; the quiet between them somehow feels much tenser in the close quarters of the vehicle. Harry occupies himself with the blur of trees outside of his window, wondering what he could possibly begin with after this much time, and he knows he’s being ridiculous, putting too much pressure on what he’ll say first, but the knowledge doesn’t make this any easier.

The drive is almost an hour long, over twice the length of a trip on the bullet train which had been out of the question. Harry somewhat regrets not fighting Merlin harder on that decision, and even more, he wishes he had thought to grab the notebook from his bedside table before they had departed. The hum of the engine is calming, though, and after a while he feels himself starting to doze.

Harry is in and out of sleep a few times, and he’s not sure how long it’s been when he realizes that the car has stopped. He peeks out of the window with a yawn, pleased to see the familiar white row of houses looking just as he’d remembered.

“Harry."

He doesn’t jump at the sudden noise, decades of training still keeping him poised and in control, but it’s a near thing.

Eggsy has taken off his glasses. They are tucked into the pocket of his t-shirt, and his eyes are locked on the hands clasped together in his lap. It’s very strange to see Eggsy so serious like this, and it makes him wonder how long they have been stationary.

“This mornin', I… well, I caught up with Merlin now that you’re being' transferred and all.” He’s running a hand through his hair, and it’s subtle, but Harry can hear a waver in his voice, and his heart instantly sinks. “Tells me you and 'im are having full conversations. That you’s making loads of progress. I mean, ‘course you are, I wouldn’t expect anythin' less, but… fuck, Harry. You’re speakin' well enough, and still you straight up _refused_ to talk to me?"

If Harry felt guilty before, the feeling has managed to double; Eggsy’s face is like an open book, hurt and anger written all over it. Harry doesn’t respond, though, his mind running completely blank.

“I don’t have the sodding notebook, Harry, _come on_.” His voice has gotten a touch louder, and the way it’s amplified in the enclosed space makes Harry’s breath catch. “Will you please say something? After all this, I deserve at least a fucking _hello_ , don’t I?”

Harry just blinks, tongue dry and somehow faltering over the basic greetings he’d mastered days ago. _Of course you do_ , he wants to say, _I’m so sorry, Eggsy_ , but his mouth refuses to move, throat tightening dangerously, and he can see the moment when Eggsy gives up, shoulders sagging in resignation as he turns away and starts to get out of the car.

The shock that seems to have taken hold of his body swiftly turns to panic, and he thrusts his arm out, gripping Eggsy’s wrist tightly, willing his jaw to unstick.

“He—hello,” he manages after a few tries, and Eggsy freezes. “I—“, and there are a few sounds of his mouth opening and closing before he can continue. “I can’t — I — I’m not—not very—artihh—articc—"

“Maybe you’d be more articulate if you weren’t tryin’ to use words like _articulate_ , yeah?” Eggsy says with a weak smile, and Harry’s face heats, embarrassment curling in his stomach at the effortless way the syllables roll off of Eggsy’s tongue.

Thankfully, the boy doesn’t seem to notice, his eyes currently drawn to the hand still clamped around his wrist, and it takes Harry a few moments to realize that he’s squeezing quite tightly. He pulls his hand back, cursing inwardly, and Eggsy takes a deep breath which turns into more of a long sigh as he turns back around to meet Harry’s eyes.

“Look, Harry. I can’t do this notebook shit anymore. Let me practice with you, yeah? Look, I’ll even bet you — I bet that you an' me can have a conversation, no notebook required, if you jus' try to stick to stuff you’ve practiced. If I win, you gotta stop usin’ that bloody thing unless it’s absolutely necessary."

Harry would like nothing more than to summon the _bloody thing_ , to write in detail about how pointless this was going to be, how much simpler it would be for both of them if they just stuck to the pen and paper, but he knows Eggsy is having none of it.

“And what i—if I win?"

“Then we ain’t gotta talk, I guess."

_Stubborn git,_ Harry thinks, but doesn’t dare try to pronounce it.

“One usually wa—“, and he has to pause to take a breath, trying to loosen his throat, “—wagers money."

Eggsy rolls his eyes and hoists his hips up, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket and tossing a crumpled bill onto the seat between them. “Fine. A tenner each to make it interestin'."

He really wasn’t expecting Eggsy to take that comment seriously. “I — I don’t,” but Eggsy holds up a hand in understanding.

“Right, of course you don’t have any cash. Oy, I gotta do everythin' around here, don’t I?” Eggsy pulls out another bill, and now he’s just being silly. “I’ll spot you then, till you’ve got all your fings back."

“Fine,” Harry says, and the warm smile it earns him is worth the ludicrousness of the situation.

***

Once Eggsy has helped Harry into the house, he busies himself in the kitchen with the tea kettle, brewing some chamomile as an excuse to give Harry some space while he takes everything in. The look on his face when they stepped through the front door had been so vulnerable, and Eggsy can’t imagine what it must feel like to be back home after all of this, after a near brush with death and weeks spent in the same drab hospital room.

It also gives him the opportunity to force himself to regain his composure, because hearing Harry’s voice had been… fuck, it had been _wonderful_ , realizing all at once just how much he had missed their back and forth, Harry's perfectly posh accent. Eggsy was absolutely determined not to cry despite the way his heart felt like it was going to burst because this really, really should not be this big of a deal.

After a while, Harry joins him in the kitchen, and they take a seat at the oak table. Eggsy had hastily cleaned up the half-empty glass of scotch that he’d left behind the last time he was in this room, and it was unbelievable how long ago that day felt now.

Harry adds a splash of milk to his tea and takes a sip, but doesn’t go to say anything, which figures.

“So,” Eggsy says, resting his chin on his hand and desperately trying to look casual about all of this, “what you wanna talk about, then? Bet you’re right sick of talk about your head."

Harry takes another sip. “Tell me—about—,” his jaw works a few times, "Germany.”

Eggsy nods eagerly, launching into the story, eyes bright as he describes the warehouse in Munich that he had to climb into. He takes special pleasure in describing his escape, complete with a maneuver that utilized his Kingsman-issued grappling hook, and Harry laughs dryly when Eggsy compares himself to Spiderman. It’s fantastic to hear that sound again, and he feels something loosen in his chest as the conversation starts to flow between them.

Eggsy is doing the bulk of the talking, but he makes sure to pause every so often to ask Harry very important questions like “You ever kicked a guy’s teeth out?” and “Is Merlin always a tight-arse about making sure you re-enable security systems?"

The first time, Harry just nods in response, but Eggsy glares at him and halts his narrative, which seems to get the point across because soon enough Harry is giving the occasional “yes” and “no” and “really now”. It seems like it’s getting easier for him, and he notices that Harry is taking frequent sips of tea between speaking, a fact that he files away for future reference.

“See, this ain't so bad, right?” Eggsy says after a while, leaning back to yawn and stretch out his arms. It’s nearing midnight now, and Harry is looking exhausted, hair falling slightly out of place and eyes heavy, and Eggsy hates himself a little for finding it so endearing.

“Yes, Eg — ah, yes, it’s — fine.” Harry actually looks embarrassed at this, and that will just not do; Eggsy is quick to keep talking.

“Great. We’ll practice some more tomorrow, 'kay? I should really let you get some sleep, it’s almost midnight, and I know Merlin will let me have it if he finds out you’re not gettin' your rest'."  

“Yes, that’s — a — good — idea.”

Harry’s voice is getting a little hoarse, and Eggsy does feel bad for keeping him up so late, but he can’t help feeling far more pleased about it all, overjoyed to be having a real conversation with him, not caring a bit about the stumbling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope everyone is enjoying, and thank you SO MUCH to those who have been leaving reviews. <3


End file.
